


Helvete, 1992

by Lydia_Pickled_Herring



Category: Emperor (Band), Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Baby Faust is a fucking twink fuck anyone who says otherwise, Faust is a drama queen, Faust talks like a valley girl because he’s a twink fuck you, Fluff, Ihsahn is a thicc Libra QUEEEEEEEEN, Jealousy, Love Polygon, M/M, Samoth is a drama queen, Unrequited Love, Varg Vikernes exists solely because I felt like it, black metallers not being very trve kvlt, not a crackfic but my sense of humour is a little off kilter at best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 20:28:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Pickled_Herring/pseuds/Lydia_Pickled_Herring
Summary: Faust wants validation, Euronymous wants to help, Ihsahn wants his classic romance and Samoth? Samoth just wants to watch the world burn...





	Helvete, 1992

**Author's Note:**

> Not going to be a long work by any stretch of the word. An old fic I felt deserved to be posted, don’t take it too seriously, it’s supposed to be off beat and light hearted

By winter of 1992, it's safe to say that the frequenters of Helvete have lost the plot in terms of what matters the most to them. That being, _true evil._

What started off as a communion of people seeking to live out the darker side of life, eventually ended with jousts using pool noodles being standard to resolve any and _every_ personal conflict. Along with a replica of the royal palace being built out of emptied cups of ramen. Completely inhabitable, proven by the two residents who permanently smelled of garlic and chicken bullion.

So, after enough midnight viewings of Pingu, done completely communally and fully unironically...... It was safe to say the Norwegian blackness has gone rather...

_Grey_.

Unless you consider a Pingu tribute band named ‘_PinGuts_’ the pinnacle of grim and frost-bitten, that is. In that case, Norwegian metal has never been more extreme.

Despite whatever Euronymous wants to say, Faust insists that, really, no one knows what it's like to be a teenage boy in 1992. That's precisely why he has a giant pillow taped to his chest. 

Samoth is standing there, proudly fluffing up his own armour before pumping his fists to rile up what little audience they do have. There's a chorus of 'whooo!!!' before Ihsahn grabs his shoulders and sits him down on the stool.

"Aim for his mug." He encourages, pointing at Samoth, who is readjusting his marshmallow gauntlets.

"Wait! I thought you said I shouldn't aim for his face." Faust said cautiously as Samoth continues parading around as if he's _not_ only around 120 pounds. 

"I changed my mind, aim right for his fucking face, big guy." Ihsahn pats Faust's back as Samoth catches them conspiring together.

"Traitor!!" He shouts at Ihsahn who shrugs at him as if to say 'what can you do?'

"Just know that I believe in you." He tells Faust but his tone is somehow devoid of any sincerity. He turns around and begins walking off before Faust calls out,

"Does our insurance cover work-related injuries?" 

Ihsahn stops and looks at him like he’s dumb, "No. we don't have insurance, Bård."

Shit. He gulps and looks back at Samoth, who seems jilted.

He tries to remind himself that Samoth is only around 120 pounds. Only around 120 pounds. Only around 120 pounds.

_"No. we don't have insurance, Bård."_

Why don't they have insurance?! 

Faust looks at Samoth again, who now looks vaguely menacing in his makeshift sumo suit. He gulps, and hopes that Samoth _didn't_ have tuna for lunch...

"Is it just me or is Vegard acting weird?" Faust asks a few hours later, jamming a toothpick between his incisors. 

"Beats me." Samoth shrugs, arms on his belly as they watch daytime soaps. He reaches in his bag of marshmallows and throws one in the air, catching it in his mouth before passing the bag to Faust. Faust mumbles out, "No thank you." before readjusting on the old couch.

Faust changes positions so that he's on his right hip, then back on his left, and then he braces his back against Samoth's shoulder. "But he's like, being weird, isn't he?" Faust repeats.

Samoth looks up at him and takes a second to respond, "He's always weird."

"No, but, he's being extra-weird." Faust furrows his eyebrows, looking at Samoth crossly.

"Well... it beats me. Vegard'll talk when Vegard wants to talk. I've got a date tonight so I don't feel like getting into it." Samoth says before patting Faust's head.

"He's probably fine though, he's always fine. How's your nose, man?"

Oh, right. His nose. Faust almost forgot about that.

Faust misses the glory days the most. The days when Cunt Grishnach knew when to _shut the fuck up._

"Dude, I hate you." Faust says, standing in the corridor of the police station counting the cracks in the bricks. Varg comes out with his hands in his pockets, "Thank you, my good man." He says, burping into his palm.

"Whatever! Just get in the car." He scowls.

Euronymous sent Faust to bail Varg out of jail after he was arrested for public intoxication, resisting arrest and just generally being too belligerent for his own damn good. He throws another look at Varg over his shoulder before stomping ahead indignantly. Fuck! His nose still hurts from getting the shit beat out of him by Samoth, who swears it wasn't anything personal. 

He just really wanted to keep his championship.

Because somehow being the self-titled master of pseudo-sumo wrestling was something to be proud of. Samoth says it'll look good on an university application whenever he decides that the university route isn't a total waste of time.

To make matters worse, Ihsahn is still being weird and Euronymous fancies himself some sort of 90’s Yoda.

"I think you're putting too much thought into this, Bård." Euronymous said as Faust sat in his office, holding onto his bloodied nose.

"'Too much thought into this', my fucking ass." He snapped, sounding like Kermit the frog as he shielded himself away from Euronymous' grubby hands. Euronymous dropped his arms and sighed, rolling his eyes at Faust like he was just a kid.

"Maybe Ihsahn has herpes, I don't know. Maybe instead of being a whimp about it you can actually ask him what's up, right?"

Faust narrowed his eyes at him, mocking him with a string of _'nyeh nyeh nyehs'_ before Euronymous gave up and told him he could take care of his nose on his own.  
  


And now he was in a car with Varg.

"Did you at least win the fair maiden's heart?" He asks blankly, driving down the street as Varg lies in the backseat.

"I will soon, mark my words." Varg says, wagging a finger as Faust sighs,

"That's nice, Varg." 

No longer did Faust know which one of them was the most insane. Was it him? He killed someone. Was it Varg? Who was convinced he'd woo this floozy? Was it Samoth and his goddamn sumo wrestling championship? Or was it Euronymous himself for organizing this whole mess to begin with?

Faust spots Ihsahn walking down the street with a cigarette hanging from his lip, swerving off the road.

"Hey, where are you off to?!" He asks, a little too eagerly as Ihsahn stops and looks at him weirdly. "Huh?" He squints in the sunlight.

"I said, 'where are you off to?'" Repeats Faust as Ihsahn tilts his head, carefully assessing the situation. "You pulled over just to ask me that?" He says.

"Need a lift?" Faust asks before Ihsahn can finish. With a sigh, Ihsahn looks around before saying, "Yeah...guess so. I'm headed for Helvete."

As he's slipping into the Toyota, he mutters, "You're a weird-ass sonuva bitch, Bård..." but he seems flattered nonetheless.

Sumo championships aside, Faust thinks his life is relatively normal. Well... As normal as it'll ever be, that is. Throughout the rest of the day, he runs errands for Euronymous and wonders why Ihsahn is in such a pissy mood-- even though Euronymous thinks Faust is better off dropping it.

"Did you ask him yet?" Sighs Euronymous as he glances over at Faust, who's slouched over the couch with his arms crossed. He looks petulant, it's sort of cute.

"He said not to worry about it." He huffs, earning a little hm in response. 

"Then I think that's a good sign that it's time to leave it be." Euronymous shrugs as he switches the television channels. Faust seems unimpressed by his suggestion but lately all he could fucking think about is Ihsahn and what's up with him. One moment he's abnormally friendly, lending Faust his clothes, the next he's sullen and refuses to talk about whatever is up with him.

"Are you cold, Bård?" Ihsahn asked earlier as Faust sat behind the cashier, clad in nothing but an old Decomposing Cunt shirt. He was hugging his arms close as he smoked a cigarette. "Ah?"

Ihsahn was already unzipping his hoodie, handing it over to Faust. "Take it. I don't want you to catch a cold." He said before walking away. Faust was about to argue that, hey, wait, Ihsahn was in nothing but a tight tank top but he was too far away. 

"Are you still in Vegard's jacket?" Euronymous asks, noticing the patches on it. They weren't of bands Faust was into. "Yeah." He answers softly. "It's comfy and plus... he smells sorta nice." 

Damn, that felt weird to say out loud. Euronymous looks like he's about to say something but choses not to. That’s good, because he was one more “Help, you need to get. Unhealthy, this is.” From applying for a full time job as a serial killer............

A week later, Ihsahn's bitchy mood has spread to Samoth too and Emperor turns into two PMS-ing women and Faust-- who's not exactly the poster boy for well-adjusted... or even classic masculinity.

"Vegard, I really think you should suit up." Faust says nervously when it becomes Ihsahn's turn to wrestle Samoth.

"In that?" Ihsahn throws a glance at the padding. "Not a fucking chance." He adds with a scoff.

"Well... do you have life insurance then?" Asks Faust with a twitch. Samoth is looking at Ihsahn like a punching bag. Ihsahn returns his look fearlessly.

"No. If I did, you fuckers would be racing to kill me. I'm doing this butch." He decides as Faust pats his shoulders. 

"Good luck buddy."

No ones ever defeated Samoth.

Not even the biggest guy in Helvete.

It's probably the tuna he has for lunch. Halitosis is a mighty weapon.  
  


When they charge at each other like Vikings on PCP, Faust wonders what the fuck is going on? How did this go so far down the figurative rabbit hole?

"Oh shit! Man down!" Someone cries out.

Why is Ihsahn even surprised that he's been pinned in less than two seconds flat? Faust gets worried when Samoth starts aiming at his face and Ihsahn flails out his legs, aiming for his crotch. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. What if this breaks the band up? What if he castrates him?

Running over, Faust screams, like a harpy, "Stop it, Tomas! You're going to kill him!" And when that fails, he grabs Samoth before...

_WHACK!!_

"You asshole!!" Faust bitches, punching him back as Ihsahn scrambles to sneak a punch or two.

Standing aside, Euronymous wonders why everyone seems to suddenly hate Samoth before he remembers:

Ooooooh, _right_, Emperor is essentially in a state of dishevel because Faust has a crush on Ihsahn, who has a crush on Samoth, who has a girlfriend.

So, when you boil it down, Samoth is the root of all this drama and definitely the bad guy. It most certainly wasn’t because Emperor was comprised of three emotionally immature teenagers more focused sumo wrestling than finding a new bassist.

"Bastard! I hope you're happy!" Ihsahn shouts in his rare moment of uncontrollable anger. Samoth and Ihsahn aren't wrestling as much as they're mindlessly beating each other up.

Faust gets up and storms off, letting them both kill each other if they want to. The rest of the group thinks that they haven’t seen this much passion since Fatal Attraction.

Euronymous just thinks it’s just a shame that _he _has a crush on Faust.


End file.
